Not the Fall that Hurts
by chan-sol
Summary: Kurt transfers to Dalton Academy. Prestigious, orderly, dapper, safe...right? No, it's okay, just breathe. Klaine. Possible Neff. Rate M for mentions of:alcohol/drug abuse, cursing, self-harm, and possible smuttiness! Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**Hey! This is a Klaine fanfic. But it will also feature others from Dalton and possibly McKinley. The characters are OOC. Warning: this will involve mentions of self-harm, drug/alcohol abuse, and possibly some smuttiness (!). Also curse words-nothing too offensive, but they are high school students so it's kind of inevitable that they would use that language. Okay so read on!**

**PS. The time changes and I signify that by putting the date in bold. If there is no date then just assume it is the same time as the previous section. (hope that made sense)**

**Tuesday October 21, 2010. 1:45 pm**

Her thin neck is held gracefully between his chapped lips. Like a delicate finger, appraised by the lowest animal on the food chain; touching only enough to feel-never to completely hone. Her silky skin is bewitchingly beautiful, while his is comparable to that of a lizard; dry and grey.

She is a sin and a miracle bundled into something… awe-striking.

Entrancing him with the contorting tendrils of smoke, but revolting with the truth it is a forbidden seduction. An unrequited type of love, only reciprocated when endless flags of green are dumped from his pockets.

_Footsteps_, he hurriedly extinguishes its siren-like ember. Casting her way into the depths of the nearby woods, reluctantly.

He swiftly removes the stick of peppermint gum from its encasement to masquerade his lover's taste. A taste now infused into his mind, like the scarring of a tattoo.

"Hey", David voices.

Immediately Wes exhales a sigh of relief.

He can feel the palpations of his heart hammer underneath his lapels. She always did sedate his heart and accelerate it simultaneously. Maybe, that was the reason for his covetous attraction.

"Hey" He says, hoping her perfume isn't noticeable

"Meet the new kid yet?" David asks, hands shoved in his trousers. As if pondering the importance of this student's arrival.

"You mean the one Blaine has been obsessing over since third period?" Wes asks sarcastically.

"Ha-ha, yeah that one." David nods.

"Of course not, trust me if I had seen the "awesome eyes ever!" I would tell you." Wes says.

"Yeah, he's got it bad. How long do you think until Blaine finally talks to him?" David chuckles. A brilliant smile on his cheeks as the reflection of Blaine's puppy-dog rambling runs through his mind.

"I'd say, knowing Blaine, he won't even come near him till Christmas…I mean remember that guy, what's his name…um…Aaron? Besides, Blaine still won't admit he's gay...at least not to anyone else." He says motioning a finger between the two.

"True, but I have a feeling this one will finally draw him out. He seems pretty star-struck." David says, smile irremovable from his chin.

"What, you wanna' bet?" Wes asks, body now fully turned to his friend. A challenge raised in his eyebrows

"Why my dear sir, that would be an insult to your ego! Because, as always, I would win," David jests, acquiring a highly fake British accent.

"50 bucks to add to my account" Wes replies, a devilish grin expanding on his face as the two boys chummily shake hands.

Afterward they stand quietly. Absorbing the memory of a simple friendship, of happiness.

David's brows begin to pucker, now sensing a peculiarity in this scene.

"Do you smell something?" He queries, oblivious to the reflexive thunderous beats of Wes's heart.

As if zapped, he immediately goes ridges praying to whatever eavesdropping deity that his anxiety is inconspicuous. More so, that whatever scent David has noticed is nothing of relation to his private affairs.

"N-No, why?" He asks, his voice barely raising octaves.

"Hold on.." David says, a hand held up to pause the world and focus.

Like a track-dog, David sniffs. Inhaling every aroma in the atmosphere. Somehow, he pinpoints its origin (to Wes's increasing distress). Non-chalantly David walks towards the forest, where Wes had recently casted his bounty's love. Slowly (at least in Wes's mind) he inches toward the ground, hand outstretched to retrieve a small paper barrel.

"Is that…is that…. weed?" David asks, befuddled.

Let it be clear, Dalton is not in association with the other schools that hoard infamous druggies. In fact, most boys are relatively clean-excluding the possible jock that may or may not have dallied in the rainbows of steroids. Therefore finding such "pharmaceuticals" among the grounds is simply bewildering.

"Is it?" Wes echoes, voice now apparently high, but unnoticeable to David.

"Yeah it is, we should tell a teacher." David says.

"No!.." Wes shouts "No! We should just…th-throw it out. I mean…do you really want to be known as the tattle?"

He eyes her body, pinched in between David's mocha fingers. Whilst, David weighs the repercussions of this decision. He doesn't see the thin layer of perspiration now appearing on Wes's forehead. He doesn't hear, the tiny-almost nonexistent- wheezes of his breathing, or the way his limbs have gone still, as if paralyzed by fear.

Instead, David thinks.

This is an unhealthy, illegal drug on his school's grounds. It is the candy of a delinquent. It is dangerous. However, the accusations of another student would be just as detrimental to the pristine image. An image so infused with pride, any student to corrupt it would automatically be shunned and metaphorically crucified. The mere thought seemed to concoct a noxious bubble in the pit of David's stomach.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. We'll leave it…." He turns to Wes, now assessing his friend's behavior. "Hey, you okay?" He asks, a smile peaking at his lips.

"Yeah, um, we should get to class" Wes declares, worry still intertwined in his voice.

And just like that, the crisis and confrontation is adverted. Wes sneaks a glance at the corpse of his beauty, his obsession, lying abandon on the ground. It is both a weakness and strength to his being. A stress reliever, a savior, his angel in white. Yet one remark from a peer and his whole world would tumble, his angle's majestic glow would be taken from his needy hands; ignited by the eyes he so desperately is protecting her from. He would fall apart…. more then he already has.

* * *

><p><strong>Tuesday October 21, 2010. 8:56 am<strong>

Shoes rhythmically slapping the glossy tile, he walks. Methodically attempting to memorize the dead eyes glaring at him through oily rainbows, inhaling the sharp scent of real leather. The walls are either caked in wooden squares, or curly wallpaper-the type that proudly insinuates its old age, with an almost haughty exclamation. It's all, quite truthfully, overbearing. In fact, the young boy's breath has shortened since arrival, almost hyperaware. His crystalline eyes dart across the scape as if expecting the statues, placed in meticulous vistas, to arise in animation and attack…. No, he's safe, _Breathe._

The bell's scream echoes in his mind. Class has ended and now the salmon swim. However, despite expectations, hurdles of feet and stress do not come barreling through the grand doors on either end of the expansive hallway. Rather, a few identical uniforms. They pass him without second glance. One even smiles, as if to broadcast their policy: "friends with all."

Kurt resumes his adventure through the elegant corners of his new…"home".

(Line)

Normally the playful banter interchanging in Wes and David's actions would be comically amusing. Blaine's eyes would ignite with a joyful disposition-more similar to a toddler then the sophomore he is. However, for some strange occurrence his head is bowed forward in a downcast slumber. It isn't until their debate of: J-lo vs. Alba escalates to physical contact that they notice his apparent absence.

"Blaine" David says, nudging his knee.

In mere seconds, the raven is aroused. As if electrocuted by reality. His shocked eyes quickly contort into the dapper smile, well known as the 'teacher-diversion.'

"Yeah, yeah" He answers now alert like a dog.

"Down boy" Wes chuckles "…We just wanted to make sure that drool coming from your mouth wouldn't ruin the blazer"

Blaine stares pointedly at his friend. Slightly annoyed by their mocks of his sleep-deprived state.

"Ha-ha very funny, it's not my fault Mr. Hannigan assigned the next "War and Peace" by today." He counters defensively.

In all truth, that is not the cause of his current energy deflation. In fact, he had finished that essay days ago. No something bigger was nagging in his ear, something incomprehensible.

It would whisper through his dreams at night, breaking the possibility of a fantastic adventure. A silhouette that drew up black shadows to darken the vibrancy of his illusions; concocted clouds of another universe; that rolled like thunder with dark wisps and chilly shadows. As if to illuminate another world, he was mandated to enter.

Unfortunately, Blaine was unable to recognize the actual form of this demon, which had robbed his sleep for the past nights. Rather after jolting awake, he would shrug it off as an irrational nuisance-like a gnat. Not to say it's naggings weren't annoying.

The pure mystery constructed confusing labyrinths of thought in his mind. Making every turn possible, only to arise at a middle of uncertainty. It was as if his body was perched on a cliff-incapable of retreating to stable ground. His eyes examining the depth below, but unable to determine it's ending. Should he jump? Liberate his exhausted mind from the trivial question and just….decide? Or stay, where harm is not a conclusive outcome to his existence. Then again, if by staying he remains whole, what is to be expected then? Will another dilemma rain down and flood all serenity from its confinements?

"Blaine!" Wes shouts in the distance.

Once again he is agitated from sleep.

"Dude, seriously stop falling asleep-we have class." David berates.

"W-What?" He asks, still stumbling through the valley of dreams.

"The bell just rang. COME ON!" David bellows, already beginning to quicken in step.

"Hurry up SLEEPING BEAUTY!" Wes hollers down the pristine corridor.

Soon David and Wes are put of sight, leaving Blaine running at top speed to defeat the Bell. Panting like a maniac.

Amidst his race, he failed to recognize the oncoming body and thus collides with it briskly.

"Ouch" The other mutters, beside Blaine's entangled limbs.

"Sorry" He grunts, whilst raising his crumple form from the slew of papers, which tumbled out of hit bag.

And then it hits him.

As if a bullet catapulted in to his chest, Blaine is rendered still. Only able to distinguish the kaleidoscopic waves of teal staring back at him. He his held only by their gaze.

**Tuesday October 21, 2012. 2:30 pm**

During the last class of the day, Blaine Anderson sits, eyeing the luscious waves of the newbie's-Kurt Hummel, he learns is his name- auburn hair. The way it delicately curls from his face, as if blown away by a breeze.

Blaine's stomach quivers at the sight, this is surely the most gorgeous man he had ever the pleasure of sighting. He can feel his pulse rev and race in lust for the oblivious newcomer. How can someone so fair exist in this world? How can they shine with such a luminous atmosphere among the dusty and gilded shit cluttering the classroom?

In short the quiet man was helplessly intriguing to Blaine. And despite his urges, his desire, Blaine sees the fault keeping him inside his chair. He is a man. A beautiful, beguiling, breath-taking man. And there in lies the problem.

However…maybe they could be friends?

* * *

><p>Kurt its, back pin straight, eyes supposedly following the teachers' banter. Present in a room of aliens. Then again, he is the foreigner, not them.<p>

Kurt is distant. He can feel the dragging eyes rake his torso, as if mapping out the intended incision points. He wants to scream. The world in a word seems hollow. As if he had been consumed by darkness previously unforeseeable. Goosebumps sprout on his arm. And quietly, he internally scours his mind for an inkling of reassurance.

_Be calm, your safe._

He knows it's a lie.

**Please review and thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey! Thanks to all those readers who favorited or subscribed (I think that's the right term.) So we are finally introduced to Jeff and Nick! Also another character, who I have yet to decide whether or not they should be a voice of reason or add to the angst. If you guys could let me know which one is preferred that would be great! Also I'm going on vacation, so it might be sometime before my next upload. Other then that enjoy!**

**PS: Sorry this chapter is a little short, i'll try and make future ones longer.  
><strong>

**October 23, 10:25 am**

"Yes, yes dad I'm all unpacked...No, everything is fine. I know, I'll call if anything happens. Okay, love you too bye." Kurt hangs up the phone, a sullen expression now etching into his skin. He stares at the receiver, unaware of the potential magic he will discover in this new universe; he is quietly aching to just return home, his real home.

"Ah, Mr. Hummel"

He quickly pivots toward the voice; eyes widening slightly in shock.

"Um…hello" he says to the man.

Kurt temporarily assesses this man's appearance. Judging by the portable mug of coffee and prim-ness of his tweed blazer he assumes the stranger is in fact a teacher.

"Professor Harvey, but you can just call me Harv." He says firmly grasping the alabaster hand in an eager handshake.

"I just wanted to introduce myself, welcome you to our prestigious campus" He pronounces theatrically, arms spreading as if to emphasize the obvious grandeur of their surroundings.

"Y-Yes, it's, um, quite b-beautiful" Kurt utters, slightly taken a back by the jovial energy radiating from this man. "I'm sorry, what is it you teach?"

"French, I actually have you a student. Which is why I figured salutations would be nice." He replies, the exuberant smile still puckering his cheeks into tiny mountains.

"Harv" is quite young looking for his 35 years of age. He is well beloved among the students. Of course, this maybe because in comparison with other faculty. Harv has a heart. Therefore, his status among the miscreants is well promulgated amongst the flittering gossip.

His hair curls wildly with tips of silver peeking its way through the painted waves of browns and chestnuts. His minty green eyes swirl and combine, birthing new hues of the forest with every turn. Frankly, "Harv" was quite attractive (not that Kurt would ever acknowledge his appearance.) His tall frame was protruding with beefy muscles, which Kurt could outline underneath his business-casual attire. His smile was simply put, dumb-striking. As if he had implanted light bulbs to blind anyone he flashes. They glittered white underneath his straight, manly jaw and left Kurt in a hypnotized state. It was only until he stopped grinning did Kurt notice the man was speaking.

"W-what?" He asked innocently. Roses budding on his cheeks from his embarrassment.

" Did you meet your mentor yet?" He asked, head tilting to the side.

"Oh, um, I don't think I was given one."

"Oh well that simply can't be! Well, we'll have to fix that pronto!" Harv begins to turn around, taking giant steps that boom against the marble flooring. Midway through his departure he turns around. Curiosity held atop his wrinkling eyebrows. "Coming?" He asked.

"O-oh, um right" Kurt says quickly gaining pace to sync with the now moving Harv.

* * *

><p><strong>October 23, 2:30 pm<strong>

"Warblers! Warblers please be quiet!" Wes belts behind the cherry desk.

His gavel posed threateningly above its stand, ready to clap at any disturbance. At sight that would freeze any underclassmen with sheer fear.

To say that their bi-weekly meeting was unsuccessful would be a complete understatement. In lieu of the Warbler's introduction to show-choir competitions, Wes initiated a discussion of what songs they should perform for the upcoming invitational. Lucidly put, their bantering was as progressive as Kim Kardashian's "relationship" with that basketball player. Ergo, each and every boy's mind was currently rupturing in ear-splitting headaches, that or they had decided to divvy into the realms of unconsciousness.

"Come on people! We need ideas!...And no Thad we are not doing Avril Lavigne, we've achieved maximum pop quota for the next decade." Wes said exasperatedly.

In the far corner Thad put his head down dejectedly. Thus leaving a dead-end to anyone voicing an idea, it had seemed as if all of the music in the world would not suffice for the intended mind-blowing routine. Nettled by this discourse, or lack they're of, Wes sighed.

"Just, everybody take a break, I guess" He said, already making way for the outdoor exit.

"Goodness I thought that would never end!" Jeff professed, exhaling a rather relieved breath. "Seriously I thought I was getting claustrophobic or something!"

"Just imagine what sectionals will be like" Nick remarked, a grin plastering his face form Jeff's humorous behavior.

"Oh geez!...Do you think it's too late to sign up for the yearbook instead?" He asked, already visualizing Wes's warpath for order.

"Ha-ha, there, there Jeffy; I'm sure he won't be too crazy" Nick replied, patting Jeff's knee in mock sympathy.

"That's sarcasm, right?"

"No, I seriously believe WES of all people will be completely calm by the time our first competition rolls around."

Jeff groaned. Rolling onto his stomach, as if lying down would thwart the obvious repercussions of Wes's terminal competition-anxiety. Nick couldn't help but snicker at Jeff's exaggerated protests.

Suddenly the intercom awakened. Mrs. Stumps' nasally voice interrupting the Warblers' peace of mind.

"Jeff Mitchell and Blaine Anderson to the main office please, Jeff Mitchell and Blaine Anderson to the main office." Soundly ending with a small beep.

Slightly confused both Warblers exited the slew of sleep-deprived vocalists and ventured towards their destination.

* * *

><p>Wes stood outside in the foggy air. The weather billowed about, making the atmosphere damp and sodden. However in the arcs of ghostly grays, weather was insignificant.<p>

He tilts his head back. Letting a funnel of smoke propel from his lips. Heaven. Succulent heaven. Captivating him in the unadulterated taste, so much awareness tumbles to the floor.

" Ay Montgomery!" A voice hollers, effectively breaking Wes's high.

Shock and anxiety quickly morphs into anger.

"What are you doing here!" Wes replies, fire beaming in his eyes.

* * *

><p>Mrs. Stump is a blue-haired meatball. He lipsticks cakes her teeth, more then it does her actual lips. Corroding in the hollow of her lids is a neon-blue eyeshade, which only accents the sickly brown to her aging skin. In short, she was not an attractive sight, at least not since the 1930's.<p>

"Anderson inside, Mitchell phone." She says bossily, no bothering to peer over the computer screen and address them respectfully.

Both boys send a fleeting glance to one another, as if to say 'good luck.'

* * *

><p>"Ah Mr. Anderson!"<p>

"Oh, hey Harv" He says, feeling the escalating anxiety flush from his body.

"I'd like you to meet somebody" Harv says, his iconic smile beaming brilliantly.

It is then Blaine notices there is another occupant in the small office (which really served no greater purpose then to supply the teachers with a room in which students had the designation to cry). A face, a fair-skinned man, luminescent like the moon. With two expressive oceans, staring directly at him. As if electrocuted; Blaine recognizes this person. No, no way….

"Blaine, this is Kurt Hummel."

* * *

><p>It has been said that when a beam of light radiates from the heavens and adorns a person's world with pure happiness, another on the opposing side of the sun is immediately cast into the shadows. Whether this poetic mumbo-jumbo holds truth would seem irrelevant, especially to Jeff.<p>

"Hello?" He says into the receiver.

Mrs. Stump's types idly from behind, attempting to conceal her eavesdropping. Of course, Jeff pays no mind to her presence as the usually cheerful voice of his mother responds.

"Jeff, honey?" She says, a quiver of sadness striking his ears.

"Mom? What's wrong? Are dad and Nancy okay?" he asked.

"Yes they're fine…"He can hear the "but" coming; unease begins it's construction. "It's your cousin Margaret…she's dead."

**Please review and thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey, sorry it's been so long since I last uploaded. I recently found the amazing site and basically was hypnotized by the klainness of it all 3! Anyways I'll try to post more frequently from now on. The italicized sentences symbolize thought. Thanks to all those who favorite or followed, it means a lot! Okay so read on!**

**October 23, 2:30 pm**

Put it simply, Mrs. Stump was no newbie to ranges of emotion one person could hold. Whether it is the deflation of limbs accompanied by gushing rapids of tears, the slightly crazy almost sardonic outburst of laughter, or the classic clenched jaw and crunched eyebrows…she had seen it all.

Wouldn't be a surprise to most, after all she was here since the first principle decided to fuck the school nurse in the custodian closet. In fact she had walked in on them, needless to say she took the next few weeks off for "being sick".

I guess one could say she had come to a strategy, a preparedness-plan if you will. Tissues perfectly stationed at the corner of her desk, mere arms length for the blubbering bastard who may acquire such utilities; Cough syrup (pre-opened) for those who claim they have a headache, when in fact the turbulence of this new passing just required a proper hazing (always under supervision of course); and finally the polished whistle she had attained for those thunderous elephants that may or may not just need to exert their sudden frustration and despair in a ear-rupturing scream or clatter. One single blow and their warpath cease to ever begin. Case in point, she was epitome of equipped. A fucking fireman couldn't compare to the likes of Mrs. Stump. Of course even with her encounters, the surprise never dulls. There is always that one baffling occurrence, which always seems to pacify the turning world in one fleeting word.

* * *

><p>"It's your cousin Margaret…she's dead." Jeff's mom said into his ear, hesitance and woe painting the usual bell-like octave of her voice. Concocting an inexplicable wormhole in his abdomen.<p>

He still had not reacted.

"Jeff? Sweetie?" She squeaked, he could feel the tears pricking at her cerulean eyes.

"W-who?" he asked, just barely audible.

"Margaret? Do you remember her?" He shook his head, not regarding the fact that his beloved mother would be helpless to see it.

"She was at thanksgiving, you probably didn't see her. She's your uncle Nick's daughter, you guys never really talked to each other, I guess. It's no surprise you don't recall her."

"Oh." He said, flummoxed and unable to fully converse, to breathe.

Quickly in his mind faces shuffled towards his forefront. Grandma, Grandpa, Aunt Jennie, Cousin Audrey, Uncle Dave…and the list trails endlessly. Hundreds of eyes careening through the waves of slightly recognizable faces, each just briefly blinking at him as if to instill a warranted guilt. "How could you forget her?" They scold in his ears, but the voices amalgamate to point where they spiral like a flushing tide. A dead heart monitor's moan howls in his eardrums, blurring the world in a fog of colors. With a brisk snap, reality is restored.

"Jeff? Honey? Are you still there? Darling?" Jeff's mom worriedly queries, most likely for the seventeenth time.

"Huh? Oh, yeah…um..What?" He says, still slightly adrift in the abyss of his mind.

"I said you should probably come home dear" Quivers in her voice send bitter sparks down his spine, like the forceful jab of an accusing finger.

Suddenly reality slaps his cheek unabashedly. Anger ignites like the flare of man drenched in kerosene, just beginning to be eaten by the orange tongues.

"What?" He screeches, completely taken off guard (if that were even more possible) "Mom I have the Warblers!" He whines, unwilling to sacrifice what seems to be the last prospect of jollification.

"Your cousin just died sweetie! We need you here at home, now!" abruptly the parental tone is drawn, like the blade of a sword. Always the most useful tactic in his mother's sheath.

"To do what? Sit around stiff in a monkey suit; talking to people I've never actually met? Mom, I'm NOT playing that charade!" He bellows, trying to grasp his control with crippled, shocked fingers.

All the while Mrs. Stump perches on her chair, observing the fold and bends of this screeching teenager, like an owl in the twilight quietly waiting for something to erupt; for the ostentatious orchestra to suppurate in bellows of rupturing sound.

"JEFF!.." His mother shrilly responds, "This is not a negotiation! You are going to come home RIGHT NOW, or so help me you will never see those Warblers AGAIN! DO YOU UNDERSTAND!"

"FINE!" He roars, promptly slamming the phone in its holder. Somehow able to sense the phone's whinge from beyond it's confinements.

Huffing like a wolf with sheer aggravation he tramples out of the office. Just barely noticing the pair of green eyes that scrutinize his every step.

"Damn kids" Mrs. Stump mutters to herself.

* * *

><p><strong>October 23, 3:30 pm<strong>

"So why did you transfer again?"

Scintillas of happiness tumble from the ultramarine irises, they fall like a dead weight. Glass littering the ground.

It's funny; Kurt can't help but find the utter truth within that analogy. Because that's how he feels. A leaden object suspended in gravity's hold, just simply levitating.

He is a shattered mirror.

Cracks, imperfections, splinters have already ebbed their way throughout his shiny frame; broken angles that somehow posses the fluidity of a snake. Slithering up his torso in a vine-like manner. He is nothing but broken shards. Each jagged on the edges. Still, oddly resting in the fragmented walls, none have yet to plummet from their shimmery cells. But patience can modify that. After all, is that not what time does?

Snares and lacerates everything till it is deformed, a shriveled existence in the perished light? Perhaps, that is what Kurt is doing. Waiting. Lingering around lackadaisically for the final hit. The drop kick to his spine that will cause every last chip to cascade from it's home; tinkling as it kisses the cool surface, the last notes of vitality raining from their glory.

He is waiting with the semblance of dignity, of strength. Because if he were to expose the valleys marking his skin, the spaded lesions… well why not just paint a fucking target on his skin? Dive into the oceans of ravenous sharks with every perforation bleeding his delicious blood.

"Kurt?"

"Hmm?" He asks eyes lifting to meet honey gold. _If looks could kill_ Kurt thinks

"You blanked out." Blaine says with his perfect grin

"Oh, um, sorry" Kurt responds, face flushing with embarrassment.

"No it's okay, I was just wondering why you decided to transfer mid-year."

Immediately images of locker bruises swarm in his brain. He can literally hear the deafening reverberation of his back meeting cool, tough metal.

"Oh, um, just not challenged enough…mentally at least" Kurt mutters, hoping his emotions don't peek through his words.

"Well, don't worry. Dalton will definitely challenge you." Blaine says a perfectly shiny smile beaming on his face.

"Good" Kurt says, not necessarily carrying the same enthusiasm.

_God excitement must be infectious around here. _He thinks, recalling the same electric life radiating from Harv. At the mere thought butterflies pirouette in his stomach.

"So do you like sports? Because we have a pretty good lacrosse team." Blaine says

"Oh, sports aren't really my thing.." Kurt replies feeling slightly guilty for his dead-end answers.

"Well, what about singing? We have the best team ever!" Blaine boasts, passion now igniting his eyes.

"Oh yeah and what are they called?" Kurt teases, resisting the urge to be nostalgic of old New Direction days.

The New Directions. A plucky, discombobulated species in itself, trying to swim amongst a sea of pencil eating Neanderthals. Amongst the surreal teenage-drama, and the somehow breathtaking renditions, they managed to preserve a family interaction. A secret language expressed through theatrical exits and exclamations. Of course, that was when it existed. For in the first years of infanthood the rivaling Vocal Adrenaline had smothered them, thus ceasing what little funds they managed to receive. Glee club was ended. Ironic really, as soon as these individuals collide into an entity of originality and quirkiness they are ripped apart from each other. No longer tethered by a common love, their personal social-statuses take reign and cast away the mere possibility of inter-connected friends.

Kurt was left to his lonely demographic and the sparse calls of Rachel Berry or Mercedes Jones.

* * *

><p>"The Warblers! Actually, I'm the lead singer" Blaine smirks cockiness.<p>

"Oh really?" Kurt taunts, flirtation now arising amongst the two.

"Yes, really" Blaine counters, participating in this new dance.

"Well then I'm sure they're horrible"

And then comfortable silence falls between them. The steam from their mocha-whatevers wafting into the atmosphere, warming the little space between them. And soon Blaine realizes he's leaning closer. As if to inspect the wondrous shades swirling in Kurt's eyes. Shimmering with playful coquetry, but suddenly replaced with an unfamiliar shadow. And it is in the arrival of this peculiar color, this mind-blowing turquoise that Blaine's heart jumps, is revitalized.

Thumping in his ears like an irresistible mantra; entrancing him to further close the distance. Soon the coffee house blurs in his mind.

It dances to this tango they've unknowingly initiated. Soon he's only a meter from the fathomless pools of blue, green. Soon his heart not only percusses to a beat, but also formulates a word that sends prickles of adrenaline through his body. Soon he feels Kurt's sweet, sweet breath ghosting across his lips and Blaine can't help but yearn for a lick of them. These lips, so bright, and red, and succulent that saliva fills the caverns of Blaine's mouth. Soon the distance has evaporated with the world around them.

_KurtKurtKurtKurt; _his heart thumps.

Soon their lips meet in a tender, delicate touch.

In a moments notice the world is nothing but a void, hungry for the meet and emotion of these two boys. Who stay together in this pose, kissing till the air they so desperately need dims to an inconsequential object of the universe.

They kiss, till the coffee grows cold.

**Please review and thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey! I AM SO SORRY for not up-keeping my submissions. Especially after I promised to make them more frequent. So I've decided to not make promises on the time gap between my uploads, but they will be less then a month apart from now on. I hope no one forgot about me, or the story. If you did I'll give a short synopsis of what last chapter was about: Basically, Jeff gets a phone call from his mom saying his cousin died and he flips his shit, and Kurt and Blaine ended up kissing. Okay, long message. Now go read! By the way thanks to all those who favorited or followed! Also, just know I have a cursing-fettish, sorry! It's weird I can't curse verbally, but when writing I seem to have a potty-mouth. Anyways, I digress…enjoy! **

**October 23****rd**** 4:00 pm**

"If you don't slow down you're going to trip, and then where will we be?" Nick asks from his position in the doorway, a joking smile on his chin. It soon falls off.

Currently, Jeff was thundering across the room in a Tasmanian devil-esque fashion. Hair in disarray, blazers creased with wrinkles, tie whipping in his rage like the tongue of a dog being pushed by the zooming air. In general, he is the equivalent of a warring tornado. He's storming across the room with little to no hesitation. Grasping miscellaneous items of clothing, entertainment, and schoolwork and then carrying it back towards the hulking black suitcase; where he unceremoniously dumps it.

His eyebrows are puckered in an indescribable emotion, but one that obviously proposes frustration. His shoulders, although moving quickly, are kept at a stiff hunch. Nick watches him. Decoding the way the limbs of his friend's body hurry, the thump of his footsteps, the pensive fire in his aquamarine eyes. He analyzes the puzzle pieces, but when attempting to arrange them, all he gets is splinters.

"Haha very funny!" Jeff says, on the brink of hysteria. His breaths are coming out in uneven huffs. Nick ignores the retort, concern now shading his face.

"Where are you going?" he asks

"To fucking Luck, Wisconsin that's where! HA-HA..I'M GOING HOME!" He screeches a deranged, petrified glint in his eyes.

"What? Why?" Nick says, knowing a visit home is due to terrible news.

"BECAUSE MY FUCK-FUCKING COUSIN M-MARGARET CAN'T HOLD HER GODDAM LIQUOR!" He says, tears suddenly gushing, hot and angry, down his skin.

Jeff is chucking, full forcedly, his clothes into the suitcase. Arm like a catapult. And Nick reacts, fearing and sympathetic for his best friend.

"Hey! Hey" He says holding Jeff's inflamed face in his palms, stopping his rapid movements. He's cooing him, trying to shush this lunatic state. "Stop or you're going to hurt yourself. Just…breathe." Jeff takes a very audible inhalation. "What happened?" Nick asks, voice low and protective.

"Sh-She's dead" Jeff replies brokenly.

"Oh my g-…Jeff" Nick's hold on his face tightens slightly and quickly transform into a solid hug; Nick's face buried into Jeff's shoulder.

With a snap everything is shifted.

Jeff sniffs, coming back into reality. His tears subside and dry on his cheeks. Saline tracks just a memory of brief vulnerability.

"Hey, don't bother comforting me." He says, a strained casual tone now replacing his previous tragic voice.

Nick leans back far enough to gaze at Jeff's face. A question obvious on his face. Taken a back by the immediate switch.

"I didn't even know her" Jeff says, seemingly back to normal. He steps back from Nick's cradle.

Nick is speechless.

You see, Nick is not some novice to Jeff's emotional displays. Being the more theatrical of the duo, Jeff has been known to throw tantrums and belts of immense passion. That being said he has never been completely speechless…until now. Most people would assume it was "another Jeff-trum", but Nick is a little more observant. He sees the switch in mannerism. The way Jeff's eyes scan the room's messy state in confusion and abandonment, a sight utterly heartbreaking. Thus, he is unsure how to help, but knows he would do everything imaginable to do so.

Slowly Jeff finishes packing in a quiet placid fashion. He's dejected, unaware of Nick's presence in the room anymore. He is lost in the abyss of the strange.

And Nick watches on, feeling a daunting weight suppress his heart. He hopes it disappears, for he is not in the slightest prepared. Unfortunately, his prayers fall deaf ears.

**October 23, 2:45 pm**

" Ay Montgomery!" A voice hollers, effectively breaking Wes's high.

Shock and anxiety quickly morphs into anger.

"What are you doing here!" Wes replies, fire beaming in his eyes.

He quickly rushes towards the man, eyes frantically switching from the newcomer to the surrounding area. Weed has been tossed towards the floor. He gazes, a mixture of irritation and puzzlement.

The man's appearance in one word is...wholesome. Adorning his torso is a slightly-out dated, yet still presentable, pleather jacket. It covers a prim-ironed colored shirt. Everything from his hair (coiffed brown locks) to fingernails is shiny, like a hospital. So overwhelmingly perfect and clean an onlooker feels unconsciously unsettled. If they look closely enough, they could determine why. If they see the ashy hairs peppering his sharp chin; how the thick brows hood his eyebrows in dark shadows, making the brown irises look more akin to ink. They would hear the informal swipe of his speech, the slight accent to his diction. Though, most people are not as perceptive, and those who catch the metaphorical whiffs of peculiarity have become too entranced in this man and his symbolism to let it bode unpleasant thoughts. Wes has not been bitten.

"Calm yourself preppy, nobody saw me. I'm 'ere for 'im" He says hands lifting in mock defense.

"But it's not the 30th yet." Wes replies, anger sedated, now questioning like a defenseless child.

"'E's blocked up, so you get first pickins kid." He says a cattish grin stretching over his face. Glints of mania flitter through the pools of infinite space.

Hesitantly, Wes follows him off the school property.

He's been through this procedure before. Meet, greet, and pay. Nonetheless a clog concocts in his throat and beads of sweat sprout on his forehead. The swirling cyclone in his gut hits high tide and for the tiniest second he looks back. Back at Dalton Academy, at opulent building towering over him, as if to say "YOU ARE NO LONGER ONE OF US!" He stares back and questions his feet as they progress towards temptation. However, he knows he has waded too far into these waters to free his bounty and arise at shoreline. He knows that treading water is the only solution. So he follows.

"The Van" is not your average criminal BMW with blackout windows and gaudy dice rattling from the rear view mirror. It's a quality Hummer, pristine white with tan interior and a spacious back seat. Its windows, although somewhat darker, are completely transparent. Unsuspecting, that's how Mr. Glum's keeps it.

"Montgomery! How you doing old sport? Still getting A's?" Mr. Glum says upon the door's opening.

"Y-yeah you bet, sir." Wes says, still washed in anxiety.

Mr. Glum is a fat man, with countless rings glittering between sausage fingers. He's encompassed in a never-ending swirl of women's perfume and long-legged models. They hang off him like parasites, devouring every chance of gluttonous gold. He has a balding head with tannish skin, hidden underneath a simple suit. Like his "associates", he maintains an uncontaminated image; another 'average joe'-appeal. But he eats like a Venus flytrap. Patiently waiting for the moment to gorge on fleshy, delicious meat; to bite with ferocity, and saturate himself in ungodly pleasure.

As Wes sits on the chair he is rim-rod straight. The dewy sweat is still in flow and his blazer seems unfathomably itchy. Heart races, whether in excitement or fear he is unsure.

"So the usual?" Glum asks, cheeks red like Santa.

"Of course…hmm (he clears his throat), but umm, I was not ready for today, er, sir…" Mr. Glum eyes rise to this flustering boy, already sick and gray in his eyes.

"Oh?" He says, prompting for this meek child to continue.

"Yes, um, well see I thought we would meet on the 30th s-so, I d-don't really have a-any…um…m-money." Wes says, trembling slightly. Expecting an elephant's eruption.

Mr. Glum, when stimulated, is not a nice man.

"HA!" Glum barks. Eyes alight with total glee. "No worries son! You can just pay it with next month's plot!" He says. His slutty maggots guffaw alongside him, distress hinting behind their false lashes.

Wes remains uncomfortably stiff, and embarrassed at his innocence. Still, he chuckles forcedly, knowing the repercussions if he does not conform.

"Ha-right." He says.

Then Glum stops (as do the women), his baby blue eyes focusing on his victim. A smile pokes at his lips.

"I like you, kid." He states. "In fact, I like you so much, I'm gonna give you something else." With a snap one of the burly men retrieves a small black box.

Wes watches, intrigued, as stocky fingers produce a tiny clear bag containing small white fairy dust.

"Cocaine" Wes whispers to himself, shocked.

"Ah, so you recognize it do you?" Glum teases. "Yes, premium benzoylmethylecgonine, the very best. And I am giving it to you…free of charge." He smiles.

"Oh-I-I couldn't possibly…"Wes says, hypnotized as the bag is swayed in front of his face. His mouth salivates for a taste.

"No, no, no, don't protest. Just take." Glum says enclosing Wes' robotic knuckles over it.

Wes sits, unable to think or breathe properly to respond. He is like a jellyfish, floating brainless by the wave's gentle nods.

Without realization, he somehow ended up back in the corner of the school building, where he was previously. His glassy eyes transfixed on the cement. A blank man dumb struck. Slowly, and unbelievingly, his eyes trail to the package of white nestled in his palm. He gasps silently.

Invisible teeth marks have marred his skin.

**Please Review and thanks for reading!**

**P.S. when I was looking up cities in Wisconsin I found one named Dalton! Okay so it's really more like a small town in a big county. But I still think it is flippin' awesome! I was really tempted to use it as Jeff's hometown, but I thought it might end up being confusing. Anyways, thanks for reading again!**


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